


filthy love letters《下流情话》

by SummerZephyr



Category: Chinese Actor RPF, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV) RPF
Genre: Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Facials, Food Kink, High School, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Not Underage, Teacher-Student Relationship, Vague Bloodplay, Vague mention of pain during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29150970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerZephyr/pseuds/SummerZephyr
Summary: He wrote me a love letterFull of filth and bullshitWhen Xiao Zhan was eighteen, he received a love letter.- Translated from Mandarin -
Relationships: Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan | Sean
Comments: 46
Kudos: 265





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [【博君一肖】 下流情话](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21158798) by [AbyssJIN](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbyssJIN/pseuds/AbyssJIN). 



> Hi! This is a translation of the linked work - if you like it, please go over to her fic, or her Weibo page [北方流氓](https://weibo.com/u/5380848884) to give it some love :) 
> 
> Translator's note:  
> 1) China's school system works like this  
> 小学 - Primary school (ages 6-12/13)  
> 初中 - Junior high (ages 12/13-15/16), divided into Junior Year 1, Junior Year 2, Junior Year 3.  
> 高中 - Senior high (ages 15/16-18), divided into Senior Year 1, Senior Year 2, Senior Year 3.  
> Students who want to enter university after that must sit for their infamous 高考 gaokao, the National Higher Education Entrance Exam.
> 
> 2) Please take note that there is NO EXPLICIT MENTION of consent in this fic.
> 
> 3) This author's style is unique among the other Chinese fanfics. I'll try my best to convey it as much as I can ><

* * *

The air-conditioner in the corner store is old and yellowed with age, but it blows air with surprising force. Xiao Zhan stands in front of it, aiming the wind straight at his head.

He sweats too easily. In that time it took for him to walk from the teaching block to the corner store, he’d sweated through his white formal shirt, revealing the outline of the singlet inside.

“Teacher Xiao, your change.”

“Thanks.”

He extends his hand, receives the fifty cents change from the lady boss. Looks, again, through the window next to the aircon, gazes at the basketball court in the near distance. Exerts a forceful push on the ice pop in his hand. The cool, hard piece of flavoured ice erupts from its packaging, giving off a somewhat muffled pop. 

He inserts it into his mouth, walks casually towards the basketball court.

This Senior High school is separated into lower and upper senior sections. The upper senior students ended their lessons earlier this Friday afternoon, leaving most of the school vacant and empty – except for one group of Senior Three students, playing basketball.

Xiao Zhan stands outside the metal fencing, watching them. Overhead, the sun is blazing hot – sweat, casually flicked off by the players, evaporate almost instantly. One of the players, wearing a red-coloured basketball shirt and a white sweatband on his forehead, jumps fervidly.

He bends his body, the ball in his possession. There’s no point for the other players to attack him; it is as if nothing can escape from those large hands, Xiao Zhan thinks.

That person glances at him, a smile hanging on his lips. He is happy that he won, after all.

Xiao Zhan swallows the icy slush in his mouth. It flows down the line of his throat; he shivers involuntarily.

“Teacher, be careful.” That boy runs over, bending down to pick up the ball.

He gives his glasses a push, withdraws the ice pop from his mouth. “It won’t hit me, there’s a fence.”

The weather is swelteringly hot. But despite being covered with sweat, the boy’s neck, with its blindingly pale skin, somehow doesn’t appear greasy at all. Xiao Zhan gazes at the bump of his Adam’s apple, watches as it bobs up, then down, as if he had just swallowed.

From this angle, it appears just as beautiful as those drawn by his hand, those that he spent extra effort on.

He’s been standing in the sun for too long. His shirt, with two buttons open at the collar, does not cover his skin, does not manage to absorb the beads of sweat trickling down his neck. Faintly, he can feel the liquid’s path, flowing over his collarbone. Tearing his gaze away from the boy’s Adam’s apple, he looks up, and happens to meet a pair of eyes that had just returned from wandering elsewhere.

He raises a hand, wipes away the beads of sweat gathering on his neck.

“Wang Yibo! Hurry up!”

“Coming.”

The boy runs back with the ball. Xiao Zhan moves his feet, walks back to the office.

“He’s in Senior Three and yet he doesn’t even know to buckle down and work hard.” The teacher in the office leans against the window, gazing downstairs with a mug of tea in his hand.

Xiao Zhan pulls out his chair, sits down. Plucks a few pieces of tissue from the box, wipes away the sweat gathering on his forehead, and tosses the empty ice pop wrapping into the dustbin.

“Yeah, who knows what the kids are thinking these days.” Xiao Zhan replies agreeably.

“You must learn from Teacher Xiao, okay?” That teacher directs this to a boy sprawled out over an office desk, doing his homework. His son. He gestures towards Xiao Zhan, pointing his chin. “He was the pride of our school from his first year to his last.”

Xiao Zhan shakes his head modestly as he removes his glasses, places them on his desk. “It’s not like I’m at some prestigious place now.”

The boy with the homework stared at him from the moment he started removing his glasses to the point where he set them down, somewhat transfixed. His father cuffs him on the head.

“How is this not prestigious? How many people can return to teach Senior High so soon after graduating? Teacher Xiao, give this kid here some guidance, please, if you have the time. He never listens to anything I say.”

“Aye.” Xiao Zhan replies.

He strolls home after work, his backpack on his shoulder. His apartment is only two streets away from the school, so he doesn’t need to squeeze on the public bus. He can’t ride a bicycle, anyway.

As he moves along the sidewalk, a vehicle whizzes by him, brushing against the clean white fabric of his sleeve cuff. The gust of hot air in its wake blasts over him, along with the acrid smell of motorcycle exhaust.

“Be careful, Teacher.”

He watches as Wang Yibo bends his body, executes a beautiful turn. His friend, one of those boys who played basketball with him, gives an excited whoop from the backseat. Wang Yibo didn’t even turn his head; he’d simply tossed a sentence at him (a sentence that just doesn’t sound very polite, somehow) then vanished around the corner.

Xiao Zhan raises his arm; his cuff is dirtied.

He arrives home, changes his clothes, hangs the shirt that he was wearing back into the closet. The rest of his clothes went into the washing machine. He presses a button, then brews a cup of green tea, picks up his cat, walks into the bedroom.

He’s only 24, but he relaxes like he’s 42.

His big armchair is soft and comfy. His cat’s belly, also soft and comfy; he gives it a few scritches, and it rewards him with a gentle push of its furry head into his hand.

Xiao Zhan pulls open a drawer and retrieves a black leather notebook. Among the stark white pages of its insides, a piece of paper is slotted within.

Though it’s almost flat again, now, after being pressed between the pages for so many years, the crumpled fold lines of a previous scrunched state is still visible. And with the messy handwritten words on it, as well as the somewhat unbearable meaning of said words, the whole thing appears to invoke disgust, naturally.

Xiao Zhan, basking in the aircon, sipping mouthfuls of hot tea, curls into the chair as he reads a twelve-year-old boy’s love letter.

_“I really like you_

_So I really want to hug you,_

_I want to kiss you,_

_And I really want to see your body._

_When I grow up,_

_I must have you,_

_And then I want to see you cry,_

_Want to see your red-rimmed eyes,_

_And I want to hear you, in my arms, sobbing as you say,_

_You love me too.”_


	2. Chapter 2

The supermarket outside his apartment is pitifully small, so he changes into his exercise attire and saunters his way to the big supermarket near the school, intending to purchase his weeks’ worth of groceries. Snacks, mainly.

He actually doesn’t eat that much, but he’s an expert when it comes to nibbling on potato chips.

“Hey Teacher, you like to snack, huh?”

He had been standing in the frigid air of the chilled section with a pink bottle of Real Fruit Milk in his hand, trying to find its expiry date. Wang Yibo, holding a skateboard in one hand, reaches over with the other, picking up two bottles of the exact same variety from beside Xiao Zhan as he glanced down at the extra-large potato chip packets in Xiao Zhan’s shopping trolley, one in each flavour.

He’s still wearing the basketball shirt from yesterday. But his outfit had been red and white, today, he is red and black. With how pale his skin looks, he’ll never be ugly in red.

Xiao Zhan places the milk drink into his shopping trolley, then takes Wang Yibo’s two bottles from him, placing them inside as well.

“Let’s go. My treat.”

Wang Yibo walks beside him, sucking at the straw. His face puffs up as he drinks, baby fat still present over the cheeks. He finishes one bottle in a few sucks, then opens another one, continues to suck some more. Just like a baby that hasn’t had enough milk.

Xiao Zhan bends his head down, looks at his own straw. Wang Yibo, observant, takes the heavy plastic bags from his hands, and he inserts his straw into the bottle.

“These are so heavy, you’re bringing them back on your own?”

He had been intending to take the public bus.

“Yeah,” he swallows a piece of fruit, “Can’t be bothered to wait for the bus.”

“I can send you back?”

“You have a helmet?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.”

“Okay. Stay here, I’ll be back.”

Wang Yibo skateboards across the road, taking advantage of the green light. Xiao Zhan, standing at the intersection, chews his straw into a pulp.

Wang Yibo passes the skateboard to his friend, asks him to take it home.

“Where’s my drink?”

“Didn’t buy it,” Wang Yibo gets on his motorcycle, “Lend me your helmet.”

“What for?”

“Booty call.”

Then he leaves, leaving a swirl of dust and a bunch of “what the fuck”s in his wake.

Xiao Zhan gets on the motorcycle with some difficulty, twisting around until he finds a comfortable position. He does not ride on one of these very often.

“Sorry to trouble you.”

“Nah. As long as Teacher Xiao doesn’t mind my ride.”

The motorcycle flies off with speed, as if taking revenge on Xiao Zhan for not holding onto its owner. But the journey is only two streets long, so its cockiness lasts barely five minutes.

“Thanks.”

Xiao Zhan’s feet land on the ground, wobbling a little. Wang Yibo, supporting him as he moves, slides his hand from his bicep down to his forearm.

He receives the plastic bags from Wang Yibo. Their fingertips touch. Kids his age always have a strange heat in them, somehow.

Waving his hand, he starts towards his apartment. But he doesn’t hear the rev of a motorcycle engine. He wonders, should he invite him upstairs for a bit.

“Not gonna invite me upstairs for a bit, Teacher Xiao?”

Xiao Zhan turns around. Wang Yibo, sitting astride his motorcycle, has half of his slender legs exposed to the open air, the other half covered by his baggy basketball shorts. In the dark night, under the light of the streetlamp, it appears even paler than usual.

“You have no idea how happy I was to see you.”

His brown hair droops obediently down. His fringe, which was sticking to his forehead in the supermarket, had been blown dry by now. It flops over his eyebrows; a few strands brush against his eyelashes.

Xiao Zhan stands there, watching that Adam’s apple bob up and down. He does not speak.

“Fine, I get it,” Wang Yibo turns the key, “I won’t disgust you any longer.”

“Come on up,” he says.

Xiao Zhan doesn’t close the door when he is changing. Wang Yibo doesn’t seem to have any intention of looking away. One of them removes his clothes, the other leans against the door, watching with great interest.

His underwear is black. Perhaps it’s because this colour has always been infused with desire; Wang Yibo stares at his legs, straight and slender, and his buttocks, encased by that thin layer of fabric. His Adam’s apple bobs.

Soon after, his view is obscured by a pair of wide, loose pants, the type that only old men would wear. The effect is similar to the uniform he wore in Senior Three.

When Xiao Zhan walks over, Wang Yibo smells the scent of his shampoo in his hair. He’s not sure what brand it is, it’s a faint, minty scent. It reminded him of that shampoo scent in Junior One, the one he didn’t get the chance to smell. It must be this one.

“Teacher Xiao, I really like you.” He raises his head, looking just as sincere as he did when he was young, but also carrying a hint of humour. “I really want to hug you, but I smell of sweat right now. I can still kiss you, though. But I’m scared you’ll think I’m gross.”

“Go take a shower.” Xiao Zhan passes him a set of clothes.

Wang Yibo, stunned for a moment, touches the soft fabric in his arms. He mumbles to himself, “Did we move that fast? I’d wanted to date Teacher, first.”

“Don’t talk about dating, what kind of Senior Three student even thinks about dating?”

Xiao Zhan picks up his cat, flops into his big armchair. He settles comfortably into it, stroking its chubby face.

“Your words aren’t very convincing. Isn’t Teacher Xiao having a booty call with a Senior Three student right now?”

Wang Yibo closes the bathroom door. The sound of splashing water issues from within. Xiao Zhan inserts that love letter back into the pages of the notebook, then he hears Wang Yibo’s shout.

“So, Teacher Xiao, when did you turn gay? You still thought I was disgusting six years ago.”

The cat in his lap gives a cry; he must have rubbed it too hard. He sets the cat down, then walks to the bathroom, gives the door a kick. Wang Yibo asks, what is it.

He’s still disgusting now, just like he was, six years ago, and all the years in between.

He raises his leg, intending to kick it again, (it’s his own door, after all), it lands on Wang Yibo’s leg instead.

“Do you hate me that much?” Wang Yibo, looking at the slipper mark on his thigh, sighs.

“Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”

“Saves me the time of taking them off, and saves you the time of having to wash them again,” he raises his head, brings it close to Xiao Zhan’s lips, “Can I kiss you?”

Xiao Zhan hesitates, then shakes his head.

“Hai, fine then.” Wang Yibo follows him to the bedroom.

With Xiao Zhan unwilling to kiss him, he doesn’t know how to begin foreplay, but when he starts to stroke along Xiao Zhan’s body, he discovers, entirely by accident, that Xiao Zhan’s body is incredibly sensitive. It is a pleasant surprise. Like he’s suddenly unearthed a joyous thing, he moves over his chest, gently teasing the erect nipples with his fingers, then pinching them with a bit of force. He is rewarded with an unconscious moan.

He likes it so much.

“Teacher Xiao, let me kiss you.”

He pushes his nose against Xiao Zhan’s cheek. His hands, working over Xiao Zhan’s body, have already turned the flesh a rosy red, but he doesn’t let up. He has no choice – his kiss has nowhere to go, he has to find another way to express it somehow. 

“I’ve wanted to kiss you since I was twelve, Teacher Xiao. All the way until now.”

He leans against Xiao Zhan’s forehead, tries to make him look into his pitiful eyes. But his hands stay busy, touching Xiao Zhan’s lower body, groping the cock that seems ready to eject at any moment.

Xiao Zhan swallows his moans with much difficulty, forcing them down into his belly. He presses a hand against Wang Yibo’s mouth, then leans over, licks his Adam’s apple. Wang Yibo’s hand gives a violent squeeze around him.

“Ah…” Xiao Zhan couldn’t hold back.

Wang Yibo picks up the bottle of lubricant, already less than half full, and waves it in front of Xiao Zhan’s face.

“You used so much already.”

He pours some on his hands, then presses into him. And even when he finally seats himself inside, even as he held his legs,

“How many?”

Xiao Zhan stares at the ceiling, thinking it over, then shakes his head. “Not many.”

Wang Yibo leans over. Holding him around the waist as he fucks into him, he bites at his earlobe, says callously, “Were they all terrible?”

He deliberately angles himself towards that spot; the cries that issue from Xiao Zhan’s mouth could mean pain or pleasure.

“They must be,” he gives the bite mark on the earlobe another lick, “Why else would you find me, you’re so…”

“Fuck,” Xiao Zhan turns over, barks at him, “You talk too much bullshit.”

“Fine, I’ll stop,” he burrows his head into Xiao Zhan’s throat, “Don’t be mad at me.”

He makes no more sound, his ears filled with Xiao Zhan’s warm breaths and broken moans. Looking up, he sees that Xiao Zhan’s eyes are red, fogged over with a layer of haze, but not tears; he is not very satisfied by that.

Xiao Zhan is still panting when Wang Yibo gets up, his body sprawled over the bed, the red flush on his skin yet to recede. He removes the condom, tosses it into the dustbin, pulls on his own basketball shirt.

“Teacher Xiao, I’m leaving now,” he bends down, speaking to him, “Still no kiss, even at the end?”

Xiao Zhan ignores him, leaving him the view of the back of his head.

Wang Yibo purses his lips. Pinching the edge of that piece of paper, he draws it out from the notebook, gazes at the messy handwriting on it. He’d guessed correctly.

He reads out the whole thing, word by word, with no ounce of shame whatsoever. Xiao Zhan turns his head around to look at him.

“No wonder Teacher Xiao suddenly thought of me,” he says, after he finishes it. He returns the paper to its original place, “But this was actually not meant for you.”

He shuts the notebook, then turns to look at Xiao Zhan. Cocking his head to the side, he smiles, with a hint of petulance. “I made a mistake, back then.”


	3. Chapter 3

He’s not sure how long it’s been since Wang Yibo left. Xiao Zhan stays on the bed for a long time, looking at the ceiling, as if he’s determined to stare a hole into the plaster.

In the end, his eyes get tired first. They tear up a bit; he wipes it away.

“Motherfucker.”

He’s not quite sure who he’s referring to.

He goes to sleep. When he wakes up, it’s almost noon. He returns to his ceiling-staring vigil.

That letter that he’d taken out, that letter that someone had just stuffed into the notebook, and the expression on Wang Yibo’s face, twelve years old, craning his neck back to tell him that he likes him. In his memory, it was as vulgar as a boy lifting a girl’s skirt in the stairwell, so when he’d said to Wang Yibo “Don’t you think you’re very disgusting”, it’d come truthfully, straight from his heart.

Before today, that had been the one and only sentence he’d ever said to Wang Yibo. He still doesn’t know how Wang Yibo came to like him – or maybe he never did, maybe it had been a teenager’s game, like lifting girls’ skirts in the stairwell.

His response back then had been to make Wang Yibo lose the game. He still revels in that fact.

He is in charge of a class of Senior One students, which is situated in a different block from the Senior Threes. Even though it’s the same school, he pretty much never sees Wang Yibo, even though he’s not the type of teacher who likes to rush to the office block.

During the afternoon’s self-revision period, he sits at the teacher’s desk at the front, grading assignments. A basketball flies in from the wide open windows, crashes into his desk, causing the girls sitting in the front row to shriek. Turning their heads, they see the person standing outside the window, wearing a familiar red basketball shirt. Covering their mouths, they giggle shyly.

Xiao Zhan picks up the ball, walks to the window. Wang Yibo smiles sweetly at him, reaching out for it with no hint of apology whatsoever.

“Thanks, Teacher.”

Xiao Zhan does not give him the ball. He gives his a glasses a push; gazes at the basketball court in the far-off distance and the high fence surrounding it.

“How did you even manage to throw this into the classroom?”

“I’m pretty strong, yeah?” Wang Yibo’s smile is never innocent. At least, not in Xiao Zhan’s eyes.

Xiao Zhan tosses the ball towards a couple of tall boys sitting at the back of the classroom, “You two, go out and have a match with him. Let’s see how strong he really is. If you lose, I’ll have lines waiting for you when you get back.”

“Teacher Xiao, do you know how to play basketball?” A girl asks.

“Not really,” he gives them a small smile, “If you want to watch your senior’s basketball match, go ahead.”

Half the students in the classroom leave. Wang Yibo, standing by the window, asks, what if I win?

“You can’t.”

As it turns out, he really couldn’t. The two tall boys are professionals; Wang Yibo and his friends suffered a smashing defeat that day.

Xiao Zhan sits at his desk, face propped in his hand, and watches the activity in that far-off basketball court with exceeding boredom. When he finally sees Wang Yibo emerge with his head drooping into his shoulders, the corners of his lips twitch up into a grin. He turns back to his assignments.

When he arrives home after work that day, Wang Yibo is waiting at the foot of his apartment block, sitting astride his motorcycle. Xiao Zhan had wanted to pretend not to notice him, but Wang Yibo shot out his hand and caught hold of his backpack strap. He has no choice but to step backwards and ask him what he wanted.

“Teacher Xiao, can’t you be nice to me on the account of our bedroom dalliance? I suffered such an embarrassment today.”

“Wasn’t it you who provoked me first?”

“But that’s because I like Teacher Xiao.”

“If I didn’t let them challenge you, I would’ve had to confiscate your ball. It looked expensive, I didn’t think you could afford it.”

“What does Teacher Xiao like? I’ll learn it.”

“Just go back, won’t you. You still have night revision to do.”

“When are we gonna do it again?”

“Don’t know.”

“Why? If you think I wasn’t very good, you should give me more chances to practice. I didn’t have much experience.”

Xiao Zhan looks up at his apartment, so close yet so far. He really wants to go home and sit in his chair and pet his cat, not stand here and debate with a twerp of a kid.

“I don’t want to do it anymore.”

He’d spent the whole day in bed yesterday, thinking. He’d almost thought himself into a celibate.

It had been the same thing six years ago. His mind had been full of the words from Wang Yibo’s filthy love letter, the one that he’d stuffed onto him. He kept wondering, why would a boy want to like a boy like him. By the time he figured it out, he’d come to the realization that he is apparently not the straight boy that he thought he was, for the past eighteen years.

And then yesterday, this instigator told him that it was a mistake?

It was as if he’d lost the prize he’d won from this twerp’s vulgar game.

Motherfucker.

“Fine,” Wang Yibo releases the strap, pulls on his motorcycle helmet. “Don’t let me see you with anyone else. I’ll punch every single one I see.”

Xiao Zhan watches until the motorcycle fades away in the distance, shakes his head. He’s not that obsessed with it. When it comes to this sort of thing, people come up to him, not the other way round. The only person he took some initiative with was Wang Yibo.

But he underestimates Wang Yibo’s shamelessness. His unhappiness with Xiao Zhan yesterday night notwithstanding, today morning sees him squeezing against Xiao Zhan at the breakfast stall. Grabbing the meat bun that the boss of the stall hands over, he takes a massive bite, and then elbows him as he looks at the boss.

“He’s paying.”

“Wow, Wang Yibo…”

His friend stares at Wang Yibo in shocked horror, then looks at Xiao Zhan in anticipation. Xiao Zhan, under the gaze of so many onlookers, grits his teeth before nodding.

“Then, I want-“

“You want shit-all, we’re going now.” Stuffing the rest of the bun into his mouth, Wang Yibo grabs his friend’s collar and hauls him out of the shop.

As if it had become one of Wang Yibo’s objectives, for the rest of the week, and no matter how early he came to buy breakfast, Xiao Zhan encounters an “Aiyah Teacher Xiao, what a coincidence”, and then gets taken advantage of to pay for two meat buns.

“That Wang Yibo, I say… If he wants to play basketball all day after school, fine, but he’s skipping even the daily revision sessions now.” The teacher sitting opposite Xiao Zhan rubs moisturizer into his hands as he complains to him.

“You should scold him, then.” Smiling, Xiao Zhan passes him a bowl of warm beancurd.

“I can’t. And, he didn’t use to be like this. He’s already Senior Three, what could be distracting him now?”

“Dating someone?”

“I’d say… about an eighty percent chance of that, yeah.”

“Go talk to him. Tell him to break it up. If not, call his parents.”

Xiao Zhan shuts the office door as he leaves, excusing himself from the teachers’ morning gossip. He turns on the toilet tap, then squirts some soap onto his palms, washing away the lingering smell of breakfast.

Situated in the office block, this toilet is only used by teachers. At this time, it’s devoid of people, so when someone suddenly leans against his back and wraps an arm around his waist, Xiao Zhan couldn’t help the involuntary shudder.

“Teacher Xiao, you smell nice.”

Like a dog, Wang Yibo sniffs at his sideburns, then buries his face into his neck, like a petulant child.

“Give me a kiss.”

“Do you know where we are right now?” Xiao Zhan tries to remove the arm around his waist, but it tightens instead, wrapping resolutely around him like a knotted rope.

“Do you know where we are right now?” Wang Yibo parrots the question. “I’ll let go if you kiss me, otherwise we’ll just stay here like this. Teacher seduces student, pretends nothing happened after sleeping with him, my goodness, Teacher Xiao, that is _so_ scandalous.”

“How are you so shameless?”

“Had too much of it before. I should’ve pestered you to death back then, made you turn gay, made you mine. Would’ve prevented you from finding someone else.”

“ _Twelve_ years old,” Xiao Zhan is amused by his retarded logic, “Could you even get it up? It would’ve been me fucking you.”

“That’s fine, too.”

He is not interested in skirting the edges of the law, but upon hearing footsteps approach, he quickly realizes that he is skirting the edges of morality. “Hurry up, someone’s coming.”

But Wang Yibo, like a dog skin plaster, sticks tightly to him, refuses to budge. Xiao Zhan starts to see red. He stretches over, trying to look pleading, but Wang Yibo remains unmoved.

“Fuck, let go.” He growls.

“Gotta kiss you first.”

“Go inside.”

“Fine.”

Wang Yibo pushes him into a cubicle; the door had just closed when another male teacher steps into the toilet.

“Mm…”

The suddenness of the kiss causes Xiao Zhan to lose a bit of his composure; he hasn’t received a kiss with such care in a very long time. Wang Yibo’s warm tongue swirls presumptuously against his, then licks placatingly at his lips. One would think Xiao Zhan is forced to accept this kiss, but he doesn’t seem to notice the gradually rising heat of Xiao Zhan’s body.

Wang Yibo knows it’s a bit dull. He’d just managed to part those plump red lips, kissed swollen, before he got repelled by a bite from Xiao Zhan’s two front teeth. Xiao Zhan isn’t like him, so coarse and unruly in his kisses; he’d simply played around his mouth a little with his tongue, then sucked at his lower lip, giving a quick lick before letting go.

“Satisfied?”

When Xiao Zhan smiles, his eyes curve, and the corners tilt up. It almost steals his soul away.

Wang Yibo rounds his eyes – they aren’t small, he just can’t be bothered to open them fully most of the time – bright, limpid eyes, like rippling waves on a shore, the tip of his nose dusted pink. He looks pitiful, and adorable.

“Teacher Xiao,” he leans against Xiao Zhan’s shoulder; being just that bit shorter than Xiao Zhan is truly convenient for him to act cute when he wants to, “Let’s date, okay?”

“Not okay.”


	4. Chapter 4

Vexed, Xiao Zhan stares at the stack of midterm exam papers in front of him. Exams shouldn’t be held right before Sports Day; who would’ve had the heart to study? He writes the third “30” of today at the top of the paper, then plucks off his glasses and massages his temples.

“How could they get such an easy question wrong? That’s stupid.”

Xiao Zhan gazes at the window. Wang Yibo isn’t wearing his basketball shirt today. Blue and white, the colour of the school uniform, leans against the windowsill.

“You didn’t get it right in Senior One either.” Xiao Zhan looks back down, draws another big X on the paper.

“How did you know?”

“I can imagine it.”

“Tch.”

Wang Yibo braces his hands on the windowsill, flips himself over, upending a little plastic pot of flowers in the process.

He bends down and picks it up. Moves the soil that had spilled out towards the dustbin with his foot, leaves it there lying there, places the pot back on the windowsill. He plucks one from it, a small flower, its five petals dusted with pale yellow.

He jumps up and sits on the teacher’s desk, squashing some of the scripts that Xiao Zhan had marked. Lightly, he places the flower behind Xiao Zhan’s ear, slipping the stem in between his skin and the frame of his glasses. It sits very firmly there, reflecting the ear’s pale red tip.

Sitting on the desk, Wang Yibo swings his legs. Xiao Zhan hears him pick up the chalk, stretch over, write something on the chalkboard. They lapse into silence.

Outside, the setting sun has almost slipped past the horizon. Xiao Zhan puts the cap back onto his red ballpoint pen, then hits Wang Yibo’s bum with the back of his hand, pulls out the crumpled scripts from beneath him. He places them with the rest of the stack, jogs it against the desk. The sheets fall neatly into alignment.

“Why aren’t you going home?” He asks Wang Yibo.

“I’m waiting to send Teacher Xiao home.”

Xiao Zhan turns around. The messy words on the blackboard couldn’t be more familiar to him, ugly and filthy, and yet they felt even more expressive than the abstract graffiti scrawled on the side.

He had thought about these words only once in the past six years, while touching himself. Wang Yibo’s twelve-year-old face suddenly floated into his mind, and he’d come in shock.

Afterwards, he couldn’t imagine how Wang Yibo looked like as a grown-up.

Xiao Zhan frowns. Wang Yibo raises his hand, points at the two figures at the bottom. “That’s me kissing Teacher Xiao. Does it look nice?”

Xiao Zhan picks up the eraser and wipes away every inch of that thing, then tosses it onto the desk. It exudes a puff of chalky dust. Wang Yibo squints, watching as Xiao Zhan fans his hand in front of him.

He leans forward to try and kiss Xiao Zhan, but ends up inhaling a mouthful of chalk dust.

Xiao Zhan delivers the stack of exam scripts to the office. Wang Yibo squats at the bottom of the office block, playing with a stray cat that had come from god-knows-where. A kitten, circling around Wang Yibo’s hand. It mews plaintively.

“Do you want it?” Wang Yibo raises his head, asks Xiao Zhan.

“I already have a cat. You can have it.”

Wang Yibo stands up, shaking his head. “I have one too. And it ignores me, won’t let me hug or kiss it. So difficult.”

“Maybe it doesn’t like you?”

Xiao Zhan turns and walks towards the school gate. Wang Yibo has to go to the carpark to get his bicycle.

“No way.” He separates from Xiao Zhan, and calls out to him “Teacher Xiao, I’ll send you home.”

Xiao Zhan reaches out, but doesn’t manage to catch his arm. He catches hold of his shirt instead.

“Just go directly to my place.” He says.

Riding his bicycle, it doesn’t take long for Wang Yibo to catch up to Xiao Zhan, ambling along the road. He rides beside him, the handlebars swaying dangerously. 

“Let me fetch you.”

“You want everyone to see a teacher riding on his student’s backseat?”

“With a flower, too.”

Xiao Zhan reaches up and plucks off the flower behind his ear. He puts it into his pocket.

The cat had been standing obediently next to the door, waiting for Xiao Zhan to come home. When the person that steps inside turns out to be Wang Yibo, it meanders over still, not cautious for some reason, and allows Wang Yibo to pick it up and bury his face into its fur.

“Good kitty,” Carrying the cat, Wang Yibo follows Xiao Zhan’s ass into the bedroom, “I can’t seem to get into my master’s good graces somehow.”

Xiao Zhan turns around; Wang Yibo collides with him. He watches as Xiao Zhan’s finger approaches the corner of his mouth, then pulls away a strand of white cat hair.

The fingers loosen, the hair that it held floats off somewhere, though Xiao Zhan’s arm stays raised. It loops around Wang Yibo’s neck, pressing into the back of his skull as he gives him a long kiss.

The cat had disappeared some time ago; his arms are full of Xiao Zhan now.

“That’s your own problem.”

Xiao Zhan separates from that pair of kiss-swollen lips. He removes his clothes, tosses them into the washing machine, finishes pouring in the detergent before he turns to look at Wang Yibo.

“Want to wash yours?”

Only the heavens know how exciting such an invitation sounds to an eighteen-year-old boy. Wang Yibo, not caring that he was standing in front of the bathroom door, strips off his uniform and places it inside as well. The lid is shut, the machine starts.

“Why don’t we wash ourselves, too?”

Wearing only a pair of underwear, he raises his head, looks at the showerhead overhead. Then looks down at Xiao Zhan, wearing that pair of baggy, ugly old man shorts, and thinks only of removing them as soon as possible.

Xiao Zhan raises his hand, turns on the shower. The water is still cold, he darts to the side as Wang Yibo jumps and shrieks in the spray, laughing as he leans against the wall. Wang Yibo holds him tight, not letting go. The white short-sleeved shirt and that pair of shorts, soaked by the spray, hang heavily on him; it saves Wang Yibo a lot of energy when he pulls them off.

The water turns warm. Xiao Zhan’s shirt sticks to him, revealing his thin frame, the two points on his chest; Wang Yibo presses and teases them with his fingers. Xiao Zhan arches his head back, exposing his throat – and Wang Yibo leans over, licks a stripe up that exquisite throat and along the sharp jawline.

But Xiao Zhan is refusing to kiss him again.

“Go get the stuff.” Xiao Zhan, with his arms around his shoulders, says into his ear.

“We’re doing it in the bathroom?” He feels a shiver in his ear, belying a shiver elsewhere.

“Mm-hm.”

“So kinky, Teacher Xiao.”

Nude, he walks into Xiao Zhan’s bedroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints. He retrieves the lube and condoms from the drawer, then bends down again, picking up the flower that had fallen to the floor when Xiao Zhan changed his clothes.

He gets Xiao Zhan to lean against the countertop while he holds onto that slender waist from behind. As if he has no care for that face in the mirror, with its reddened eyes and pitiful look, as he drives himself comfortably into him, again and again.

“Teacher Xiao, I like you.”

He presses his lips to Xiao Zhan’s back, kissing the skin gently. The beads of water on his body carry the scent of his shower gel, but that minty fragrance from his shampoo is stronger.

“Teacher Xiao.”

This strength, aimed at that spot, always gets Xiao Zhan to give out the most delicious of moans. But he doesn’t get anything more than that, which is not what he wants… or, in other words, not all that he wants.

“I really like you.” He says again.

“Mm…”

He replies simply, with some difficulty, his arms propped on the countertop. Wang Yibo opens his mouth, leaves a bite mark on a protruding shoulder blade.

Wang Yibo places his fingers on his lips, feeling the flesh, pressed tightly together to suppress the moans, pop open. Next to his lips, a small flower beckons, the same one that Wang Yibo had placed behind his ear.

Wang Yibo presses his body close to his back, his arm wrapped around his waist. Next to his ear, he whispers.

“It’ll kiss you for me.”

Xiao Zhan, gazing at the mirror, sees Wang Yibo’s face buried deep into his neck. He extends his tongue, delivers that flower into his mouth, swallows it down.

The aircon in the bedroom is turned on. Wang Yibo, wrapped in the blankets, holds Xiao Zhan in his arms. After a while, Xiao Zhan starts to feel warm, so he reaches his arm out, tries to break free. Unexpectedly, he fails.

The cat had jumped onto the bed, and Xiao Zhan had shooed it off. It doesn’t know why, aggrieved, it meows. Xiao Zhan starts to worry that it had licked something weird – they had fucked all the way from the bathroom to the bedroom, turning the bed into a big mess. But he has no energy to get off the bed to open a can of cat food for it, in penance.

At some indeterminate point in time, it started raining. Perhaps it’s an autumn thunderstorm, crashing loudly against the window. It’ll stop soon.

Wang Yibo noses at his shoulder. Xiao Zhan reaches out, caresses his hair, and says to him, “The clothes are done.”

“Mm… I’ll go hang them.” His arm presses against Xiao Zhan’s waist as he pushed himself upright.

When he returns, he finds that his spot had been taken over by the cat. Xiao Zhan cuddles it in his arms, scratching its head. He smiles at Wang Yibo, looking very sweet.

“Will you help me wash my shirt?”

“Where is it?”

Xiao Zhan gestures at the closet with his chin. Pushing it open, Wang Yibo gazes at the row of Xiao Zhan’s clothes, hanging neatly on the rail. There are lots of pale-coloured shirts, and also lots of loose sweaters; holding Xiao Zhan in his arms during wintertime must feel very cozy indeed. 

He pulls out an out-of-place white shirt hanging at the end of the rail, raises the dirty cuff, says to him, “Don’t you know to wash it when it gets dirty?”

Xiao Zhan shrugs. “You did that.”


	5. Chapter 5

Xiao Zhan walks through the school gate. The atmosphere is unusually relaxed today – it’s Sports Day, after all, and then it’s National Day after that… though, with the ecstatic way the students are behaving, one would think that the school is about to be demolished. The female students that know him like to say hi, because it may take this school another eight hundred years (or maybe even more) to produce such a handsome male teacher again.

“Teacher Xiao, are you joining the teacher competitions?”

Xiao Zhan looks at their bright eyes, thinks about the explosion of pictures that would appear on the school forum if he joins the competitions.

#OtherPeoplesTeacher

So he smiles, shakes his head.

“Then, is Teacher going to watch the competitions?”

“If I have the time.”

He sends the girls on their way, then walks to the office. He hadn’t actually intended to come to school today (it’s not like he’s a form teacher anyway), but he had received an urgent call from the next-desk teacher last night. As a new teacher, it wouldn’t have been nice of him to decline.

“Then, is Teacher Xiao going to watch my competition?”

Xiao Zhan is used to Wang Yibo’s unexpected appearances by now.

“What competition do you have?”

He turns around. Wang Yibo is wearing that red-coloured basketball shirt again, with the white headband on his forehead. Xiao Zhan wrinkles his nose. That thing had been tied around his eyes some nights ago – he feels the phantom ache around his eyes still.

“I’ll go if I have the time.” He still replies the same way.

“Eh, don’t use those superficial words on me,” Wang Yibo jumps in front of him, blocking his way, “I’ll shout _Teacher Xiao I love you_ at the venue if you I don’t see you there. You can deal with it.”

Xiao Zhan sighs. “Go on, then. If I get fired, I’ll go overseas and study some more. You can deal with that.”

He moves around Wang Yibo and heads up the stairs, leaving the miffed boy alone with his basketball. Seems like his six years of seniority is of some use, after all.

Xiao Zhan pushes open the office door. The Senior One student is already there, working obediently on his assignments at the office desk. His dad had been sent off for some courses; he’d asked Xiao Zhan to tutor his son in the meantime.

The kid is very obedient, but very bad at schoolwork.

Xiao Zhan sets down his bag, pulls up a chair next to the boy. He picks up the assignment, covered in red crosses, and asks him which question he doesn’t understand. The kid dithers a bit, and says, this, somehow appearing as if he’s just pointing at random. The hand on the paper trembles a little, even.

Xiao Zhan, looking at the question, thinks, if he can’t even understand this question, then he probably can’t understand anything in the entire assignment. On a scrap piece of paper, Xiao Zhan writes down the full sequence of steps for solving this question, then patiently explains every number on it, using that soothing tone of voice he’s long gotten used to.

He doesn’t notice the faint flush creeping over the boy’s face on this September day. Nor does he notice the gentle flaring of his nostrils – perhaps detecting a faint minty scent in the air.

“Do you understand?” He raises his head, comes face to face with the boy’s panicked expression.

“Er…”

He has no choice but to explain the whole thing again.

Wang Yibo had wanted to wipe away the sweat at his neck, but after glancing at his dirty hands, he thought better of it. Picking up a bottle of water lying on the side, he rinses them clean. One of the cheerleaders sees the empty plastic bottle and immediately brings over a few more.

“Senior, you’re too handsome.”

He smiles coldly, then chugs half a bottle of water.

Teacher Xiao really didn’t show up.

Wang Yibo runs off to the office block once his competition ends, still wearing his sweat-soaked T-shirt. It is even more deserted than the teaching blocks, the corridors completely devoid of people. His basketball shoes, stepping on its surface, make no sound.

Xiao Zhan is steadily watching a boy (who looks rather young) do some mathematical sums. The kid is sitting very close to him, his face red, turning to look at Xiao Zhan every few lines or so. Xiao Zhan will wiggle his eyebrows, and the kid will happily turn his attention back to the paper.

“Teacher Xiao.” He jumps on the windowsill, calls loudly.

The kid startles badly, as if he’d been caught in the middle of some wrongdoing. Lazily, Xiao Zhan raises his eyes, gazing at Wang Yibo’s not-very-friendly face, then taps the paper, indicating for the boy to continue his work.

He gets up, comes out of the classroom, shutting the door behind him. He shuts the window that Wang Yibo had opened, too.

“Did you win?” Xiao Zhan asks him.

“Wow, so Teacher Xiao finally cares about me now.”

“I have to tutor him,” Xiao Zhan, seeing the immature jealousy on his face, adds on, “I’ll go for the finals tomorrow.”

He was truly fearful that if he didn’t promise Wang Yibo something, the next question would be _Is he more important than me_ , which is precisely the kind of thing children his age will think of.

“You came just because you had to tutor him?” Wang Yibo does not seem appeased.

 _Yes_ , Xiao Zhan thinks truthfully, he wouldn’t have gotten out of bed otherwise.

“Wouldn’t be nice to reject his dad.” Is what he says instead.

Wang Yibo gives the kid a look through the window. He’d immediately looked away, of course, but Wang Yibo had seen him staring intently at Xiao Zhan’s back.

“No finals. We lost.”

“Lost?” Xiao Zhan pretends to look surprised for a moment, then smiles and nods his head. “Ah, I forgot you were up against the students from my class.”

“I want to go over today.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“He’s going too,” Xiao Zhan jerks his head, “His exams are coming up.”

“Are you his dad? Why do you care so much about him?”

“Am I your dad? Do I have to soothe you?”

“If you like that, I can call you that tonight,” Wang Yibo shamelessly moves closer to him, speaks into his ear, “Would you like that, Daddy?”

Xiao Zhan wrenches his head away, cursing him silently. Fuck.

The school quietens down after nightfall. Xiao Zhan walks in front, two uniform-wearing figures follow behind him. Riding his bicycle, Wang Yibo almost crashes into him several times; Xiao Zhan hands him the keys, tells him to go ahead first.

The kid waits until Wang Yibo’s figure has retreated, then asks, “Is he your younger brother?”

Xiao Zhan gives a hmph, “He’s my son.”

They drop by the supermarket, purchase quite a lot of items to bring home. A whole bag of it contains just potato chips; he likes potato chips, and Wang Yibo occasionally steals some. And a few bottles of milk, because Wang Yibo has not been weaned yet.

They see Wang Yibo lounging noisily on the bed the moment they enter, petting his cat, playing his video games. He goes over to pick up the console, brings it outside. The kid needs to study.

“Here?” Wang Yibo points at Xiao Zhan’s desk.

“Where else?”

Carrying the cat, Wang Yibo leaves the room, bumping into Xiao Zhan’s shoulder on the way. It feels like a transgression somehow – he hadn’t even used this desk yet, how could some other kid get there first.

Xiao Zhan is busy making dinner in the kitchen, wearing an apron. Wang Yibo, leaning against the doorframe, feels that the design of this apron is too plain; next time, he will buy one with a bow on it. It will surely look adorable.

He walks in, closing the kitchen door behind him. With that apron tied around the waist, it is difficult for him to access the skin under Xiao Zhan’s clothes, so he simply unties that slender knot.

Xiao Zhan’s knife lands on the chopping board with a “KA-TAKK” sound. Wang Yibo seems to not fear it, though, nudging him on the belly button.

“Teacher Xiao, if you bring students home next time, don’t wear these. They’re so loose and baggy, makes me want to pull it off.”

He unties the drawstring knot on Xiao Zhan’s shorts; they slip down along his waist, hanging on his hipbones, revealing a hint of his underwear. He slips his hand past the elastic band. Despite Teacher Xiao’s expressionless face, the welcome his body gives is very truthful.

“Be careful. Don’t cut your hands.”

He watches as Xiao Zhan juliennes the orange carrots. When the knife edge falls near his fingers, the hand grasping him relaxes a bit, when it is raised, he tightens it again. He’s still worried that he might cut his hands.

“Mm…”

In the end, Xiao Zhan lets out a soft moan. Wang Yibo removes the knife from his hand, places it back into the knife block, then loops his arms around his waist, lets him lean backwards.

He picks up an uncut piece of carrot from the chopping board, places it under Xiao Zhan’s front teeth, letting him bite on it, “Shh, Teacher Xiao… quiet, there’s someone outside.”

But the movement of his hand had no intention of keeping him quiet at all.

He wipes the white fluid on his hand at his hole – it’s still warm. He raises his hand, touches Xiao Zhan’s face – it’s warm, too.

“Ow.”

Wang Yibo bites open the bottle of the milk that he’d just retrieved from the refrigerator, pours it over where they are joined. Ice cold, the milk lands on their heated bodies like icicles, causing Xiao Zhan to shudder violently, and causing Wang Yibo to cry out at the sudden tightening sensation; Xiao Zhan raises his hand, tries to cover Wang Yibo’s mouth, but ends up pushing over the plate next to him instead.

“Teacher, are you okay?” The kid’s voice comes from outside the door.

Following that sound, Wang Yibo starts fucking into him.

“Yes,” Xiao Zhan tries to cover Wang Yibo’s mouth again, but from where he’s bent over, he can’t quite aim, and Wang Yibo sucks on his finger instead. “Oh…”

“I can help you?”

“No need, I’m almost done. Continue your revision.”

“Okay, call me if there’s anything.”

“Mm.”

Satisfied with the reply, the kid leaves. He doesn’t know that that sound was fucked out by Wang Yibo, and the intended recipient is not him.

“Be quiet now, Teacher Xiao. Senior One kids know about these sort of things.”

“He’s only Senior One.” Xiao Zhan, hanging his head, laughs at him.

“I liked you from the time I was Junior One,” Wang Yibo’s hidden jealousy finally reveals itself, “Teacher Xiao, you don’t care about peoples’ ages at all when you seduce them.”

“Which eye of yours saw me seduce him?”

“Sorry, Teacher Xiao, I was wrong,” he kisses his throat, “You only seduced me, am I right?”

Xiao Zhan tilts his head back to kiss him, but manages only to reach the corner of his lip. Wang Yibo, who of course won’t let such a rare opportunity pass him by, picks Xiao Zhan up, setting him on the marble countertop, then pushes his lips close for him to kiss.

“Teacher Xiao.”

He props Xiao Zhan’s leg over his arm, spreading him open, revealing the point of their coupling. It emits a watery, squelching sound, and some whitish substance as well; it is unclear if that’s the daubed-on semen, or if it’s peach-flavoured milk.

“Kiss me again,” he thrusts forward with force, then bends down to hear Xiao Zhan’s suppressed moan, trapped in his throat, “I’m scared that you won’t be able to control yourself.”

Experimentally, he nudges his tongue at Xiao Zhan’s mouth. This time, Xiao Zhan accepts it readily, responding with his own desirous intent.

The sound of the kid’s voice comes again from outside the door.

Wang Yibo, with Xiao Zhan in his arms, feels his sudden tremor, and the bite on his tongue, and his lower body sucking him in even more. He lands a smack on Xiao Zhan’s impact-reddened buttocks, for him to relax, then slows down, gently grinding inside him.

“Teacher, my mum says that she’ll be here to pick me up soon. Could I trouble you to tutor me again tomorrow?”

“Say you’re busy tomorrow.” Wang Yibo says quietly.

“I… am busy tomorrow.” Xiao Zhan raises his head, looking at Wang Yibo’s eyes. Seeing Wang Yibo’s smile of satisfaction, he raises his hand, strokes the tufts of hair sticking up from Wang Yibo's head.

“Maybe the day after tomorrow.”

Wang Yibo’s face, decorated with that newborn smile, freezes instantly. But then he understands – Teacher Xiao won’t follow his orders, and he probably never will, not in this lifetime.

“Then I’ll come the day after tomorrow, too.” He says mulishly.

Xiao Zhan shakes his head.

“Can you not bring him home, please?” Wang Yibo can’t bear to fuck him to death; aggrieved, he feels like crying.

“Thank you, Teacher.”

Xiao Zhan calls to the kid, “We’ll meet at school the day after tomorrow.”

Wang Yibo hears the footsteps fade away. Capturing Xiao Zhan’s waist in his arms, he pulls him close, thrusting vigorously into him. Caught off guard, and without Wang Yibo’s tongue in his mouth, Xiao Zhan bites himself by accident.

He extends his tongue – there’s some blood on it. Wang Yibo pushes forward, licks it.

“Do you like it like this, then? Daddy?”

“Fuck.”

Xiao Zhan’s flushed red tip expels something white that very instant. Wang Yibo grasps it tightly in his hand, and Xiao Zhan, with his arms around Wang Yibo's neck, leaning against his shoulder, feels the swirling heat below, threatening to gush out as he says,

“Puppy.”

“Woof.”

He couldn’t control himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The #OtherPeoplesTeacher hashtag is a play on the "other people's kid" meme. It is what Chinese parents say when they compare you with the other kids. :')


	6. Chapter 6

Wang Yibo had been intending to slip away on his skateboard when his form teacher summoned him to the office, so he leaves it behind the office door. Inside, all the teachers had already left except for Xiao Zhan, who is grading his assignments, wearing a pair of gold-rimmed glasses.

“Think about it. If she really likes you, why would she choose to go out with you during Senior Three? If she really means well, she wouldn’t have chosen this year.” His form teacher bends her head, sips a mouthful of green tea from a thermos. She had been persistently urging him for what feels like hours. 

Xiao Zhan had brought that tea to the office. It’s very fragrant.

“Maybe they don’t really like me.”

Wang Yibo says this while casting a look at Xiao Zhan. He seems unperturbed by the ongoings; not sure if he’s pretending not to hear it, or if he’s pretending not to know him.

“I’m still at the chasing part.”

His form teacher almost chokes on her mouthful of tea, “What on earth is even in that head of yours?”

“I don’t know what’s in that head, too.” Wang Yibo shrugs his shoulders.

Peeved by his response, his form teacher opens her mouth, ready to start scolding him. But her department head arrives at that very moment, she is beckoned outside.

Wang Yibo extends his arm, plucks off Xiao Zhan’s glasses, “What are you thinking of?”

“What to eat for dinner tonight.” Xiao Zhan says, looking up at him.

Wang Yibo is speechless. If Xiao Zhan wants to evade a topic, there’s no way Wang Yibo can drag him back, no matter how well he fucks him. He pouts, then bends down, shuffling closer to Xiao Zhan, “Teacher Xiao looks really nice with glasses.”

“Then shouldn’t you return them to me?” Xiao Zhan takes the glasses back from Wang Yibo’s hand, repositions them on the bridge of his nose, then turns back to his assignments.

“Wah, Teacher Xiao cares so much about his image in my eyes?”

“Yeah,” Xiao Zhan nods simply, “What am I going to do if you don’t like me anymore.”

Stunned, Wang Yibo returns obediently to his original position. He turns around, looks at his form teacher still talking in the corridor. The office, and the two people inside it, are quiet – the only sound comes from the scratching of Xiao Zhan’s pen on the paper, rasping its way into Wang Yibo’s heart.

“You know how much I like you.” Even his own voice sounds pitiful in his ears.

After her conversation, his form teacher returns. Xiao Zhan is still marking his assignments, his head bent low. Wang Yibo’s head is bent low, too, standing quietly next to her desk, hands behind his back. She walks over, observing him – it is truly a stark contrast from his previous, disinterested appearance.

Xiao Zhan recaps his pen, places his glasses into his backpack. He gives her a smile as he says he’s leaving first.

The form teacher calls him, says let’s go out this weekend, Xiao Zhan smiles and shakes his head.

“I’ve got to spend time with my son.”

“Since when did you have a son?!”

Wang Yibo sees the absolute shock on his form teacher’s face; his lips curve into a smirk. Facing Xiao Zhan, he pushes out his tongue, licks his lips.

“A little puppy,” he slings his backpack over his shoulder, then bends down, pulls out a bottle of pink peach-flavoured milk from the drawer, sets it casually on the desk, “Not weaned yet, it’s fussing like crazy.”

His form teacher hasn’t gotten over her shock yet – she walks Xiao Zhan to the door, tries to play along with the joke. Wang Yibo moves over to Xiao Zhan’s desk, slips the bottle of milk into the wide pocket of his school pants.

“Wang Yibo, go have your dinner. And come back right afterwards for your night revision, don’t run off skateboarding!” His form teacher calls out to him as she locks the door, yelling at his retreating back, “Go and reflect on your behaviour!”

Wang Yibo runs down the stairs, jumping on his skateboard. It doesn’t take him long to catch up to Xiao Zhan. He doesn’t say anything, just follows him home.

“You still need to go for your night revision later.” Xiao Zhan says to him as he opens the front door.

“I know.”

Wang Yibo pushes Xiao Zhan in. Tossing his skateboard aside, he wraps his arms around his waist, leans forward for a kiss; Xiao Zhan doesn’t reject him for once. The cat, noticing their arrival, happily comes forward to wind around their ankles – Xiao Zhan gives it a brief glance before Wang Yibo pulls him back by the chin. Raising his head, he looks at the clock hanging on the wall, pats Wang Yibo’s ass.

“You should go now.”

“Okay,” Wang Yibo picks up his skateboard, steps outside, “Stay home with me this weekend.”

“Sure,” Xiao Zhan walks to the doorstep, starts to shut the door, “But you have to tell me who that love letter was meant for, first.”

“Ah?” Wang Yibo appears to be deep in thought. Finally, he looks up and says, “I can write one for you every day.”

Xiao Zhan slams the door closed.

Wang Yibo sits in the classroom, sucking at a bottle of pink-coloured milk through a straw, and rakes his pen all over the words in the notebook, turning it into a patch of black. Slipping the end of the ballpoint into his mouth, he nibbles at it, thinking of the expression on Xiao Zhan’s face when he said _you’re very disgusting_ , six years ago.

Twelve-year old Wang Yibo had still known how to hide in his blanket and cry his eyes swollen. Eighteen-year old Wang Yibo, when faced with that piece of paper again, willingly accepted it – he is a filthy person.

“That love letter wasn’t for you.”

“Then who was it for?”

His notebook had been full of “Xiao Zhan”s.

He likes him, he’s always liked him. So much.

He used to be envious of his desk-mate, a girl. She could gather with the other girls, and say, senior Xiao Zhan is going to sing at the school’s performance arts recital, he’s going to be the emcee at this year’s graduation ceremony, he looks so handsome in a suit.

The Junior One boys had not yet learnt how to admire a person of the same sex; Wang Yibo, following what they do, shouts at the girls, _is he as handsome as me?_ After that, he sits on a little stool beneath the stage, transfixed, watching Xiao Zhan, illuminated by the lights of the stage. Like the girls cheering softly next to him, he feels that the person he likes is shining, glorious.

“Just help me, please, Wang Yibo, put it secretly into his bag,” his desk-mate catches hold of Wang Yibo’s arm, stuffs a love letter into his hand, “Please, he’s graduating soon.”

Wang Yibo reads the letter behind his desk-mate’s back. The girl’s writing is saccharine and cheesy; he throws it into his own schoolbag, then borrows a teenage-fiction magazine from one of the boys at the back of the class, copies a section from it. His handwriting is ugly, and the words are vile, but he has written them down, now, and they are him.

Wang Yibo walks to Xiao Zhan’s classroom door. There’s no one inside – all the students are downstairs, taking graduation photos. Xiao Zhan is standing at the very middle of the last row. Wang Yibo, leaning on the fence, observes for a while – then he bends down, sneaks into their classroom, and slips that piece of paper into a notebook lying on Xiao Zhan’s desk. It’s bound in black leather, it must be a graduation gift from the school.

“Hey.”

He had just walked to the door when a familiar voice comes from behind him, jabbing into his spine, causing him to spring upright. Turning his head, he sees Xiao Zhan holding that piece of paper, standing next to the classroom’s back door, looking at him with a face of revulsion.

“Don’t you think you’re very disgusting?”

Wang Yibo stares dazedly at that face that he likes so much, then straightens himself, adopting the façade that he uses when rejecting girls. He cocks his head to the side, gives Xiao Zhan an annoying grin.

He says, “I like you.”

After that, the next time he sees Xiao Zhan was when that basketball slipped out of his hand, struck the metal fencing next to the basketball court. Xiao Zhan’s uniform had been replaced by a white-coloured shirt, two buttons undone at the top. His collarbone was sprinkled with sweat, and he had raised his arm, wiped it off – and appeared to unconsciously pull at his collar. He had been nibbling at an ice pop with his two front teeth; when he was in Senior High, he had liked to eat ice-cream with whipped cream on top, he had liked to stick out his tongue, and take a few licks, and then bite at it with his teeth.

He had picked up the basketball, and looked at him. Xiao Zhan is back, but he’s not quite who he used to be.

“Teacher, be careful.”

That’s fine, too – he’s also not who he used to be.


	7. Chapter 7

Tuesday saw the office crammed full of Senior Three students. This tends to happen after the exams – some of them are students who noticed marking errors on their scripts, who came to get their papers relooked at – some of them are students who felt that they had no errors, who came to get their answers debated at – and some of them, like Wang Yibo, are students who weren’t listening during the paper review, and came after class to ask questions about it.

He is still wearing his basketball shirt, with another short-sleeved shirt pulled on top. His shorts still reveal half of his bare white thighs.

“Wang Yibo, if you put half as much effort in basketball into your studies, you would understand all of this.” His teacher had no time for him, but she couldn’t stop herself from giving him a word of censure.

“It’s fine, Teacher, I’ll wait for you to be done.” He sidesteps the cluster of top students surrounding his form teacher, places the paper on Xiao Zhan’s desk, “Teacher Xiao, explain it to me?”

Xiao Zhan isn’t busy – he had been sitting in his office chair, playing Anipop on his phone. He raises his head, gives Wang Yibo a look, then closes his game and picks up a red pen. “I’m busy marking my own students’ papers, you can go wait for your teacher at the sofa.”

“Teacher Xiao,” he moves closer, touching his calf to Xiao Zhan’s trousers, “I have to go play basketball. It’s just one question, won’t take you long.”

“If you want to play basketball then don’t bother.” Xiao Zhan raises his voice – not too loud, not too soft, but it just happens to travel to Wang Yibo’s form teacher’s ears.

“Wang Yibo! Go and change your clothes! You want to play after school, fine, but your next lesson is in ten minutes and you still want to run off to the court!” Among her crowd of students, his form teacher raises her head, yells at Wang Yibo.

Wang Yibo nods, his hand nudging the paper towards Xiao Zhan again. Following its path, he leans in front of Xiao Zhan, bends down, and says quietly to him, “I’m going, baby, don’t be mad.”

Xiao Zhan’s face contorts in disgust; Wang Yibo runs off. Not long after, the sound of a group of boys gathering downstairs float up, clamouring as they head towards the court.

Wang Yibo had brought him a composition exam adorned with a big fat zero on top. The question asked for an exposition about persistence and success, and Wang Yibo had written just one line.

“I’ll write him a love letter every single day. If he doesn’t love me still, this proposition would be false.”

Xiao Zhan throws the script aside; a piece of exercise book paper flutters out. Haphazardly torn out, fraying at the edges, two big ugly words have been written at the top – “Love Letter” – and then, nothing else.

He holds that piece of paper, stares at it for a long time. Then he withdraws a 2B pencil from his pen holder, and, leaning forward on his desk, carefully runs the lead across the surface of the paper. White words float up across the grey stretch of graphite; Xiao Zhan takes one look at the first sentence and almost throws the whole piece of paper into the dustbin – but then he forces himself to be patient, finishes marking out the whole thing, and then scrunches up the paper, throws it into the dustbin.

“I knew Teacher Xiao would want my love letter. I thought for a very long time last night, about how to make you happy. I don’t know what you like, so I thought, why don’t I just hold you in my arms? Every time you fall asleep in them, you’re as sweet as a baby, so I think you must like it like that.”

He picks it up again from the dustbin after work.

Xiao Zhan has to supervise a self-revision session on Wednesday morning. He leaves home an hour in advance, buys a bowl of beancurd and two meats buns from the breakfast stall, and sits there, eating languidly. He bites down, receives an entire mouthful of dough – he chews, and chews, and doesn’t swallow it down even though a hint of sweet has started to appear. He gazes idly at the menu board up there, covered with a layer of dust, and thinks, maybe I’ll get beancurd and fried doughsticks tomorrow.

Someone taps his shoulder. He turns around. The boss hands him an egg, and a few notes.

“Your change.”

“What change?”

Xiao Zhan’s face is full of confusion. The boss, too busy to play guessing games with him, sets the egg and the money on the table, then leaves him alone. Xiao Zhan prods at the bundle of change; there’s a blank piece of paper inside. He stuffs the money into his pocket, then peels the egg, continues his leisurely meal.

“Good morning, Teacher Xiao. If you don’t like the egg yolk, I can eat it for you.”

Sitting in the office, Xiao Zhan curls his lip, stuffs the graphite-covered piece of paper into a folder inside his backpack. Out of a sense of waste, he hadn’t eaten hard-boiled eggs for years, not since he was in Senior High.

The weather is good on Thursday. There’s sun, but it’s not too sunny. After his class, Xiao Zhan makes his way from the teaching block to the office block. The osmanthus trees along the path are in full bloom – his walk past them bestows upon him a sprinkle of osmanthus fragrance.

The school’s PA system starts playing music during the second period break. The voice of the girl on the speaker is gentle and sweet, and not overly so.

“Our book recommendation for today is _The Little_ Prince, from Senior Three Class Five Senior Wang Yibo.”

Xiao Zhan stands next to an osmanthus tree. A few speckles of pale yellow flower petals, ferried by the wind, lands on Xiao Zhan’s shoulder. He thinks of the flower that Wang Yibo had put behind his ear, the one that he had swallowed into his stomach.

“Everyone must go and borrow this book from the library, okay?”

The announcement ends, the break between classes is over. Outside, it gradually gets emptier, until Xiao Zhan is the only one left. He makes a few steps towards the office block, then, gritting his teeth, turns around, heads to the library instead.

He comes here very rarely. The school library isn’t very big, even the students themselves don’t come here often. He spends a long time looking; the old uncle managing the place asks him amiably (several times) if he needs help, but Xiao Zhan shakes his head, says he should rest, says he will find it himself. Frowning, he searches the foreign literature section for a long time, then finally, at bookshelf 10, 5th row from the top, under the Historical Classics section, he finds it – a not-very-new copy of _The Little Prince._

He stands there, gazing at the book lying on the shelf, and realizes that Wang Yibo knew exactly what day that was.

Because it had been a very ordinary day. Xiao Zhan didn’t say anything, and Wang Yibo never asked. He’d just pressed him on that desk and fucked him for a long, long time.

The desk had dug painfully into his waist. He’s not sure what kind of obsession Wang Yibo had with that desk, refusing to let him up from it, not caring about him until Xiao Zhan, who’s finally had it, kicked him hard on the thigh. Wang Yibo ultimately showed some form of conscience, picked him up from the desk… but then he turned him around and pushed him back on again.

“Are you fucking done?”

His chest, tender from all the bites, felt exquisitely sensitive on the cold surface.

“I haven’t come yet.”

Xiao Zhan felt blackness descending over his vision – he’s just turned twenty-four, but he’s losing to this eighteen-year old.

“You’re so sensitive, Teacher Xiao. You get hard whenever I touch you… how could I stop?”

Xiao Zhan picks the book up from the shelf, flips to the page with a piece of paper slotted within. He was going to leave with just the paper, but then he glances at the page again, with a little prince and a fox on it.

He borrows the book.

“You’ve found me ❤.”

Xiao Zhan places the pencil into its holder. Like the next-desk teacher’s little kindergartner girl, he folds the piece of paper into a heart.

Friday sees him teaching the first period again. The atmosphere in the class is dull and lifeless, students sprawled out sleeping over their desks. One of the girls sees him enter and sits upright immediately, rubbing her eyes. Xiao Zhan tidies the teacher’s desk, placing his own books on it; when he looks up again, most of the students had propped themselves upright.

He really has to be thankful for this face of his, sometimes. No matter how boring the lesson gets, the students will still show him a modicum of interest.

“Today, we will be…”

He pushes his fingers into the chalk box, but encounters not a single piece of chalk inside that half-opened paper box. He pulls it open, and sees that it is stuffed half-full of paper. The printed lines of an exercise book are still visible on it, paper folded into little flowers; they look a little bit like roses.

“Could you help me get another box of chalk?” He says to the study monitor sitting in the front row.

“I just got one yesterday, who took them all.” The girl frowns, complaining.

“Go on, please.”

He smiles at her, and her irritation melts away instantly.

He takes that paper box with him when he leaves. Hidden behind a book, no one notices. He places that box into his bag. Really, he wants to take it out and have a look, but then, pulling open a pile of paper flowers at his office desk and then colouring all over them would be just too weird. So he controls himself, waiting for the end of the day, his gaze occasionally floating to his backpack, the itch in his heart hard to ignore.

He gets home, and proceeds to open every single one of them. The fold lines on the paper almost ruins the words, which is not helped by the fact that Wang Yibo’s handwriting has always been shockingly ugly. One word on each piece of paper, and he still has to arrange them in order.

Xiao Zhan scolds in his mind as he arranges them, _are you insane, Wang Yibo_.

“You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.”

He picks up the copy of _The Little Prince_ from the desk. He vaguely remembers seeing something like this.

He flips to that page, scoffs. The sentence was obviously not of that puppy’s calibre.

It is practically noon when Xiao Zhan opens his eyes that weekend. After a meal, he sits in his armchair, cuddling his cat as he watches a movie. Heaven knows how often he’s watched this one; he wonders, every time he watches it, why he hasn’t found that kind of love story yet. It’s not like he’s any less handsome than the male lead.

He bumps his teeth on the rim of his mug, the fragrance of the green tea within swirling under his nose. Laying back on the chair, he glances at the time at the right lower corner of the computer screen. “18:00”.

Where’s Wang Yibo?

Do love letters take a break on the weekends?

The cat fusses on his lap, stretching towards his face, licking with its little pink tongue. Maybe it’s because Xiao Zhan just had some tea, and the fragrance of it is still lingering; the cat licks below his lips.

He has a mole below his lower lip. Wang Yibo said, _Teacher Xiao, there’s a mole here_ , then stuck his tongue out, licked it. Afterwards, he even said to Xiao Zhan, _I didn’t kiss Teacher Xiao, okay._

Xiao Zhan whips his head up. The cat, who got a lick of nothing but air, doesn’t seem offended in any case – it reveals its belly, meowing, allowing him to rub it, then starts batting at his hand after a few rubs. Like Wang Yibo’s soft, fluffy hair, it itches when it runs across his skin, and yet he can’t stop himself from pushing his fingers in to rub. Sometimes, when he doesn’t allow Wang Yibo to kiss him, he’d lie in his arms, quietly embracing him, sometimes, when he does, he’d push out his tongue, tenderly kiss his lips… occasionally, he may bite a little, and Xiao Zhan compromises easily, usually.

He finishes his dinner, opens up a can of food for the cat, even gives it some snacks. Thrilled, the cat loops joyously around his ankles, bouncing up and down.

Xiao Zhan, potato chips in his mouth, eyes half-opened, listening to the dreadful screams of a horror flick playing on his computer, picks up his phone. “23:00”

“What’re you doing?”

He sends a voice message to Wang Yibo.

Wang Yibo is perched on a skateboard. He learnt a new trick today, and made his body extremely dirty from all the falls in the process; he stops next to Xiao Zhan. Gazes at the beret on his head, the slightly oversized sweater on his body, hiding most of his hands in its sleeves, revealing only a sliver of his nails.

He really wants to hook his pinky around Xiao Zhan’s, and bring him home, cuddle him in his arms like how he used to cuddle his plushies when he was little. They can curl up on the sofa together, watch a movie, he can feed Xiao Zhan an original-flavoured potato chip, brush away the crumbs at the corner of his mouth with his finger, probably lick it a little himself.

“You really came. I thought you were going to bed.” He picks up his skateboard, so that he does not reach for Xiao Zhan’s hand in such a public place.

“I was.” Xiao Zhan nods.

“Then why did you come?”

Xiao Zhan bows his head, thinks, if my temper was any shorter, I would’ve left right away. He even pretends to, subconsciously, turning his body a little. But Wang Yibo stands in front of him, not moving, making Xiao Zhan feel as though he is a rabbit prancing in front of a lion that’s about to pounce.

He had checked, before he left his apartment, checked if there were any paper planes, made of exercise book paper, stuffed into the cracks of his front door, or perhaps hidden in other strange, curious locations. But no, there didn’t seem to be anything at all.

When he was eighteen, and received that love letter that made his hands go weak, he hadn’t imagined that it would come to this.

Finally, he raises his head, looks at Wang Yibo’s eyes looking at him, bright with reflected light. He asks.

“You said you wanted to hug me?”


	8. Chapter 8

Wang Yibo raises his head, sweeps his tongue over the smears of white at his lips, lays a kiss on that blazing hot abdomen. He pulls himself up, spreading over Xiao Zhan’s body, laps up the few drops that have splashed their way to his chest.

“It’s so concentrated,” he strokes Xiao Zhan’s face, flushed red, with the back of his hand, ”Doesn’t Teacher Xiao know how to touch himself when I’m not around? Or did you save it specifically for me?”

Xiao Zhan wipes away the stuff on Wang Yibo’s lips with his fingers. Extending his arms, he wraps it around Wang Yibo, cuddling him. They are both thin; the points where their ribcages touch hurt a little.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you a lot, too.”

Wang Yibo surges relentlessly up, trying to kiss Xiao Zhan’s lips, like a pouty puppy on a hunger strike who just saw a whole bowl of milk in front of him. A warm tongue nudges at the mole under his lip; Xiao Zhan opens his mouth, bites him.

“Did Teacher Xiao receive my love letters?” His broad hand, cupping Xiao Zhan’s ass, kneads it until a patch of pale pink blooms. Thin though Xiao Zhan may be, that part of him is unbearably soft.

Xiao Zhan doesn’t reply. When it comes to these sort of obvious questions, answering Wang Yibo would only embolden him.

“I was afraid that Teacher Xiao wouldn’t want to see me. I didn’t know if you felt soothed enough.”

“I’m not.” Xiao Zhan says that, but he opens his legs obediently for him to enter.

Wang Yibo rarely sweats, especially on cool autumn days like these. Xiao Zhan’s body feels far too hot, wrapping tightly around him, swallowing him inch by inch. Waves of sensation rush to his head, almost asphyxiating him; his breathing deepens unconsciously.

“Hey, don’t rush,” Xiao Zhan smiles at him. He raises his hand, wipes away the thin sheen of sweat gathering on his nose tip, then brushes against the high bridge of his nose, “It’s not like this is the last time.”

Wang Yibo comes back to himself, pressing down on Xiao Zhan’s waist as he thrusts in to the hilt. Xiao Zhan’s legs, wrapped around his waist, squeeze in pain.

“Yeah, I’ll still be fucking you next year.”

“You’ll have graduated already next year.”

“I won’t, I can repeat my year,” He raises Xiao Zhan’s thigh, thrusting in slowly and rhythmically, then looks down, watching Xiao Zhan’s ass cheeks ripple with the impact of his hipbones, “If you still don’t like me by end of next year, I’ll stay for another one.”

“Are you crazy.” Xiao Zhan scolds him.

“I don’t dare to go, Teacher Xiao,” He leans down, holds him tight. The tip of his nose, flushed red, nudges coyly at his throat. As coquettish as he may be, his lower body is definitely not skiving. “What can I do? Won’t you help me?”

He pulls Xiao Zhan upright, leans him against the headboard, lets him sit on himself. He gives Xiao Zhan’s chin a nibble, then buries himself into his arms, watching as Xiao Zhan works his waist, moving up and down, consuming and releasing Wang Yibo’s member. He pushes his body forward, coming in contact with an erect nub on his chest, rubbing insistently against the side of his face – he opens his mouth, wraps his lips around it.

“I like you more than any of them.”

His tongue swirls around and around the swollen flesh. Xiao Zhan hears the sound, wet and sloppy, feels the quick sting of sharp teeth raking across his nipple; the other side, devoid of attention, feels uncomfortably neglected.

“Wang Yibo…” he calls his name, and it seems as if Wang Yibo understands what he wants in an instant. He tilts his head over, licking at him, with no continuation.

“That love letter was originally written by someone else. I changed it,” Wang Yibo presses the tip of his nose against that expanse of reddened skin, nudging him gently, listening to the muffled moans that Xiao Zhan is hiding inside, “You receive so many of them, I had to make you remember me somehow.”

“I succeeded, didn’t I?” He stares into Xiao Zhan’s eyes. “You love me?”

He sees the sprinkling of red around Xiao Zhan’s eyes, the rippling gaze from within. He thrusts himself vigorously in – Xiao Zhan presses down on his shoulders, tries to prop himself up – Wang Yibo wraps his arms around his waist and pulls him back down.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I do love you,” Xiao Zhan squeezes his mouth shut, swallows all the broken, disjointed words, he opens his eyes, but he does not manage to stop the tears from falling, “Don’t torture me anymore, please.”

He embraces Xiao Zhan, lets him lean forward onto his shoulder. There’s a sensation of wetness on his skin – he’s not sure if it’s from the tears from Xiao Zhan’s eyes, or if it’s from the sweat on his forehead.

Xiao Zhan feels like a big furnace, blazing with heat, surrounding him from the inside and out.

“You won’t change, will you?”

Xiao Zhan asks him in a soft voice. Wang Yibo, as if finally hearing some oath that he’s dreamed about for so long, tightens the arms around him, quickly leans down, speaks into his ear, “I won’t, I’ll adore you for the rest of my life. Don’t worry, you can love me.”

At 2am, Wang Yibo sticks himself onto Xiao Zhan’s back, nudges his calf with his foot.

“What?”

It’s long past Xiao Zhan’s bedtime, and after two rounds, he’s incredibly tired. Wang Yibo still seems to have energy, his hands roving around his body. He’s too tired to care, so Wang Yibo doesn’t know to stop.

“I’m so hungry,” He pulls Xiao Zhan’s arm across, rubs it over his belly, “Was waiting for your call all night, I didn’t even have dinner.”

Xiao Zhan looks back at him, then, resigned, drags himself over Wang Yibo’s body and heads to the kitchen, digging out his very last packet of instant noodles. Wang Yibo, his body nude and his pecker uncovered, comes over, setting his chin on Xiao Zhan’s shoulder as he leans pliably against him.

“I want fried eggs.”

“Aren’t you cold?” Xiao Zhan turns off the stove. The kitchen is full of the steamy smell of instant noodles.

Wang Yibo takes a bite of his eggs. The yellow yolk is still warm and oozy, melting in his mouth. His cheeks have taken on a tinge of pink, but he still nods.

“I am, come hug me.”

Xiao Zhan lands a smack on his ass.

“Hey, don’t do that, if I get hard again, whose fault is it?”

Wang Yibo leans against the counter, holding up Xiao Zhan’s dainty little instant noodles pot, sending splashes of soup everywhere. He wants to go and get some tissues to wipe it up, but Xiao Zhan pulls him into his arms.

Xiao Zhan is taller than him by half a head, so unlike him holding Xiao Zhan, it feels even more like hugging a plush soft toy.

Xiao Zhan kisses his ears. Wang Yibo’s earlobes are very small, not like Xiao Zhan’s, which are big enough to slip into his mouth. He nibbles at them with his two front teeth.

His hands grasp that part of Wang Yibo’s lower body, already soft by now. One hand moving up and down, the other gently rubbing the head, occasionally pressing down a little. The speed with which that thing hardens itself erect is really testament to its owner’s eighteen years of age.

“Teacher Xiao, what are you trying to do?”

“Shh,” Xiao Zhan kisses his face, “Eat your food.”

Wang Yibo puts down the chopsticks in his hand, tries to turn around to hug him. Xiao Zhan does not allow it.

“Didn’t even finish the food I made, how can you say you love me?”

Wang Yibo ends up literally swallowing both the noodles and tears into his stomach. Xiao Zhan’s hands on him speed up, then slow down, his chest pressed against his back, holding him tight. He can smell the minty shampoo clinging to Xiao Zhan’s hair, completely unobscured by the smell of instant noodles.

He inhales the last of the noodles into his stomach, not even bothering to chew. Yanking a few tissues out from the side, he quickly wipes his mouth, then extends his arms towards Xiao Zhan – but what he didn’t expect was for Xiao Zhan to release him that instant and step back. 

His hands raised, Wang Yibo grasps an armful of air. Xiao Zhan shrugs innocently, “You said you were cold, so I hugged you.”

He leaves the kitchen, pointing at the sink as he goes, “Make sure that pot is clean.”

Wang Yibo returns to the bedroom, Xiao Zhan pulls out a set of clothes from the closet for him. Wang Yibo’s mini-me is still erect, bobbing towards Xiao Zhan.

“You’re ignoring it, Teacher Xiao,” He doesn’t take the clothes, points down there, “Could you give it a few licks?”

Xiao Zhan stares at it for a long while, then tosses the clothes onto the bed. He kneels down, extends his tongue, gives that tip, flushed red, a lick.

Just like how he licks the whipped cream on top of his scoop of ice-cream.

Wang Yibo frowns, caressing Xiao Zhan’s face with his hand, watching him play with his swollen member. Only sticking out that red, moist tongue a little, licking him somewhat clumsily, only giving him that fleeting bit of heat, not willing to suck it all in.

Wang Yibo leans against the closet, panting slightly. He doesn’t want just a few licks.

“Teacher Xiao, open up.” He squeezes Xiao Zhan’s jaw.

Xiao Zhan, afraid that he’ll hurt him with his teeth, tries his best to open wide. But after that thing fits itself into his mouth, he can’t move his tongue, in fact, even the back of his throat starts to feel a little numb.

He does not understand why men like it this way, but come to think of it, it had indeed felt shudderingly good when Wang Yibo did it to him. With a gentle hum, he slips more of it into his mouth.

“What’re you thinking?” Wang Yibo sees his bit of hesitation, caresses his hair, “I still want to fuck you. You’re so distracted otherwise.”

Xiao Zhan shakes his head, squeezes his thigh. Tells him not to move.

He usually uses his hands, it’s his first time doing this. A strange sloppy sound emits from his throat. He closes his eyes, his face flushed red.

Wang Yibo licks his lips; just watching Xiao Zhan’s face like this is enough to make him reach his limit. He thrusts forward slightly, bumping against Xiao Zhan’s soft tongue, but he cannot bear to do it again when he hears Xiao Zhan’s choked hum.

“Xiao Zhan…” he touches the corner of Xiao Zhan’s eyes, watching as they opened up.

He’s not sure if it’s because he’s in too deep, or if it’s because Xiao Zhan’s emotions got the better of him. He sees his own shadow reflected in the mist in his eyes, like a plea from a desperate man.

He bites his tongue, which had been hanging at the corner of his lips. Pulls out from Xiao Zhan’s mouth, sprays, landing on Xiao Zhan’s face, Xiao Zhan’s body.

In that moment, Wang Yibo’s mind turns a blank white. Floating in that whiteness is Xiao Zhan’s face, that exquisite face, with drops of sticky white liquid on it, some of it dripping onto his lips, that pair of lips, moving gently, the sound it makes is his name, Wang Yibo, and the white liquid, which belongs to him, slides into his mouth.

He falls to his knees, holds Xiao Zhan, tries to kiss him; Xiao Zhan turns a little, wipes away the stuff on his lips, gives him a kiss at the corner of his lips.

“My clothes are all dirty now.”

“Take them off, I’ll wash it for you.” Wang Yibo helps him remove his clothes, somewhat clumsily, and also, for the first time. Xiao Zhan feels somewhat amused, raising his arms acquiescently as Wang Yibo takes off his clothes.

He opens the closet, rifles around a little; some of these aren’t very comfortable to sleep in. Wang Yibo pulls out the formal shirt that he had washed for him before. “Wear this.”

Xiao Zhan glances at him. He doesn’t believe that Wang Yibo can get hard again today.

“If you get into the top hundred, I’ll wear it.” He pulls on an old T-shirt, takes that shirt from Wang Yibo’s hand, replaces it in the closet.

“Really?” Wang Yibo presses onto Xiao Zhan’s shoulder, standing on his tiptoes as he pulls out a silky, deep blue fabric from the top compartment. He spreads it open in front of Xiao Zhan, compares it a little. “If I get number one, can you wear this one?”

That robe had been from his university cultural performance. He had performed a dance called Gokuraku Jōdo, and it had ignited a firestorm within the university. And had also gotten him his second ever confession from a boy – though he’d gotten bored with it after a few days. It hadn’t felt right, he has no wish to remember it.

That fabric doesn’t stay on the body. Silky smooth, if draped over naked skin, it’ll definitely slide off, hanging half open at the chest, riding over the collarbones. And the wide, billowy sleeves would get stuck at the elbows; prevented from falling further, the whole piece of clothing will sway along with the body, perhaps rippling in the wind.

“Sure.” Xiao Zhan takes it back. The somewhat cool silk covers his hot fingertips; he keeps it in his hand, touches it a little more.

“I’ll try hard.” Wang Yibo picks up the clothes that he’d just removed from Xiao Zhan, heads to the bathroom. Holding it under the running tap, he rubs carefully at it.

He’s already starting to imagine everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaand that's it! if you're still reading this, thank you so much ❤️ have a merry Spring Lantern festival 元宵节 today, and a good Weibo night in advance :)


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